The Death of Sybil Branson - Narration
by Corelli Sonatas
Summary: The dark, ominous scene of Downton Abbey on the night of Sybil's death is revealed in narration. Full of various characters' insights, this version of the dreadful scene in series three comes to life in writing.
1. The Death

"Sybil? Wake up, Sybil!"

Mary's heart pounded. Her youngest sister could not breathe. Not only was she short of breath, the woman banged on her bulging head, and her neck swelled by the second.

No one was about to move out of the dimly lit bedroom, for no composure was left in the minds of Edith, Matthew, Tom, Sir Phillip Tapsel, and Doctor Clarkson. Only Mary could push herself to declare, "I will get Mama and Papa."

Sybil did not thank her sister for this thoughtful decision, as she could not come to consciousness. Matthew looked his wife in the eyes; she did not acknowledge him. This was a crisis, and there was no time for sentimentality. Mary ran out of the room.

"Mama!" she shouted with the volume of a whisper. Her silk blue night robe shone in the moonlight that rushed in through the opening door.

Cora and Robert did not know whether they were awake; Sybil had been successful in delivering her daughter, and everyone had ventured off to their bedrooms on a joyful note. When Mary's voice exclaimed, "Mama! It's Sybil!", the Lord and Countess of Grantham could not breathe. The three hurried out of the dark room only to confront another form of darkness.

Mary had outrun her parents to the room where her sister struggled, and the situation could not have been more critical. Edith remained in the shadow of everything, her stunned countenance vividly displaying a sense of utter helplessness.

Matthew, of the most grievous nature, leaned on the pole that connected to the foot of the bed. He stared at his dedicated wife, who did more to help Sybil now than either of the doctors. A panicked Cora and a disbelieving Robert entered the room; the mother rushed to her daughter's bedside, while Robert boomed, "What the hell is happening?"

Tom, in tears, persisted with "Sybil? My darling, please breathe. My love!" His desires were not met. Sybil tossed and turned violently, while Mary importuned her deathly ill sister to hear her: "Sybil! It's Mary. Can you hear me?"

Doctor Clarkson knew that the poor twenty-four year-old was approaching death. She was suffering from eclampsia, which was the horrible fact, and yet Robert questioned the other doctor, "What is wrong with her?"

Tapsel was mumbling tentatively, "…unless she has - "

"Unless she has what?" Cora broke in, the harshness combining with her fear, making of her a frightening woman.

"Eclampsia," Clarkson stated. Robert looked as if he had been slapped in the face. To Sir Phillip he bellowed, "But you were so sure!"

Cora had returned to her daughter, her thoughts filled with despair. She sobbed as she pleaded her Sybil to breathe. Tom likewise did so: "Sybil! Come on, breathe, love."

Mary continued to dab the dying woman's swelling forehead, and her own head hurt. She felt as if she had choked on something rather hard, and all she could repeat out loud as she turned to the doctor was "She can't breathe!"

Sybil was not complaining about her head anymore; rather, her body twitched and her head pushed backward. Tom was overly anxious by the abnormal behaviour, and his speech was driven by his emotion: "Help her, help her! Somebody, please!"

"Doctor Clarkson, should we take her to the hospital?" Edith asked.

"There is nothing that can be done," explained the doctor.

Matthew would not accept this assertion. "That's not possible, not these days!"

"Help her, help her!" screamed Tom, sensing the expiration of his wife's short life.

Through all of the doubt, panic, and grief, Mary remained at Sybil's side, determined to be useful, determined to save her sister. At this point, however, not even a diligent apothecary could rescue the family's beloved member. "She can't breathe…" Mary stepped back when her sister halted all motion. Sybil's head unlocked itself from the grip of the muscle.

Cora and Tom would not believe that she was dead until a solemn Doctor Clarkson walked over to the body and felt no pulse. Tom bawled and held the cold hand of his late wife to his face. He had not been prepared for her departure. This was not how he had meant the future to transpire.

The mother of Sybil Crawley-Branson would not conceal her grief, nor would she smile about the sudden, shrill cry of the newborn in the nursery down the hallway. Right now she only cared about _her_ baby, and that was Sybil.

Matthew, instinctively, turned to gaze upon his wife at the sound of the child. Mary closed her eyes in deep sorrow and turned away from all others present. Tom and Cora refrained from leaving Sybil's corpse, consumed in utter agony.


	2. The Aftermath

Matthew put forth his best effort not to make a sound as he and the oldest Crawley sister returned to their bedroom. The wooden planks on which the two walked would creak awkwardly, resounding throughout the lifeless upstairs floor.

Rather unfortunately for Mary, their bedroom rested peacefully on the other side of the grand staircase. This meant that the chances of her husband peeping a few feeble words were high.

Mary could have laughed when at last Matthew uttered a phrase, but only on this grave night would she refrain from blurting, "I know you too well."

Matthew spoke: "If there is anything I can do...to...to help you and the family -"

"Don't talk," whispered a callous Mary. She was wan from the tense and strenuous episode from which she and her beloved family had just been freed. _Not freed_, Mary decided. _We have been merely let off from all hope that a pure human heart might continue to beat._

The man forced his lips together so as to conceal the opening to his mouth. His heart beat slightly faster, for he could sense a wroth Mary Crawley bursting out of her shell. Suddenly his instinct turned on his vocal chords once more: "Mary, I - I just want you to know that I am here -"

"Of course you are!" spit the woman. Were the hour of night not so ripe with insensibility rushing through the air, Mary would have thought twice before snapping at her husband in the public halls of Downton. "You are here, but what can you do? Nothing. Just tell me when you can put an end to this grief and I will trust that you _can_ help!"

"My darling," Matthew reasoned, "you will _have_ to allow me to comfort you." He was cautious with his words now; for, quite contrary to Mary's current disposition, the young man still had ability to control his part of the conversation. The other picked up her pace.

"Just leave me," Mary's voice began. Matthew took this incomplete utterance the wrong way and queried, "You want me to leave Downton?"

"Oh, God help me! Matthew, you are making this harder than it should be!" The woman did not verbally elaborate on her former statement. They had approached the ghastly door to their bedroom, and Mary simply halted in her step. Matthew immediately understood the situation: Mary was pressing him to sleep in another room.

"I -" Matthew could not shape his sentences. "I will leave, then. I love you."

Silence. Their bedroom door opened and shut. Matthew turned round for the bachelor's corridor.

Three seconds ticked by on the Roman clock. Mary stood in the bleak bedroom with neither thoughts nor breaths flowing through, in, or out of her body. Her brain rather abruptly reached its apogee of moral musings, which jerked her hand to turn the knob of the door.

She violently surged the door open, and her large pupils scanned the area for Matthew. _What have I done?_ _Did he truly deserve that?_

Turmoil invaded her mind, arousing questions of the woman's recent deeds. Would she search for Matthew? Mary was on the verge of doing so, but a spectral Earl of Grantham breathed from down the hallway: "Would you please retrieve Cora?"

At first Mary thought that the voice was of her own imaginings; then Robert repeated his daughter's name: "Mary." And she turned and nodded to her father and obeyed.


End file.
